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x. ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD. A comic drama in two acts. Six 
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MILKY WHITE 

A DOMESTIC DRAMA IN TWO ACTS 
BY 

H. T. CRAVEN 



New American Edition, Correctly Reprinted from the Ori- 
ginal Authorized Acting Edition, with the Original 
Casts of the Characters, Synopsis of Incidents, 
Time of Representation, Description of the 
Costumes, Scene and Property Plots, Dia- 
grams OF the Stage Settings, Sides of 
Entrance and Exit, Relative Posi- 
tions OF the Performers, Expla- 
nation OF the Stage Direc- 
tions, ETC., and all of 
the Stage Business. 



Copyright, 1889, by Harold Koorbach. 

S->fC0 '^<'7,4I889;;;, 

^^m^ 

NEW YORK 

HAROLD ROORBACH 
PUBLISHER 



\\^ 



^ ^ \ 




MILKY WHITE. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS. 



Prince of Wah-s Theatre, Olympic Theatre, 

Liverpool, A'tw York, 

June 2 0th, 1S64. Nov. 21st, 1S64. 

Daniel White {iinpopularly 
known as '-'Milky IVliite,'" 

a Cowkeeper) Mr. H. T. Craven. Mr. W. Holston, 

. Dick Dugs {a Cow Boy) Mr.James Stoyle. Mr. C. T. Parsloe, Jr. 

Archibald Good {a Feteri- 

nary Surgeon) Mr. S. Bancroft. Mr. T. B. Berry. 

Rude' Boy Master Cheeky. 

Mrs. Saddrip {M'eighbor of 
White, and Proprietress of 

a Biihy Linen Emporium). .Miss S. Larkin. Mrs. G. H. Gilbert. 

Annie White {Daughter of ' 

White) Mrs. W. T. Craven. Miss Louisa Myers. 

One Night is Supposed to Elapse between the Acts. 

Ti.ME OF Representation.— One Hour and Three Quarters. 

SYNOPSIS OP INCIDENTS. 

Daniel White, derisively called ''Milky White," and hated by his 
neii^hbors with whom he is at constant war. is a sour tempered, deaf old 
dairyman, idolizing his dauijhter Annie, the only person for whom he 
has a kind word! DiCK Duos, his assistant, and Archibald Good 
{alias Smith), a young veterinary surgeon amliitious of becoming a 
great physician, are both in love with Annie who returns the latter's 
affection. Good's father, having been forestalled thirty years before, in a 
love affair, by his partner, had revenged himself upon his false friend 
by disap]iearing from home and causing it to be supposed that he was 
dead. He had afterward married in another part of the country and 
subsequently died, leaving to his son a legacy with which the latter had 
purchased the reversion of four thousand pounds, payable at the death of a 



6 MILKY WHITE. 

SCENE PLOT. 

Act I. White's parlor, set in 3 g., backcfl with dairy and cow-yard in 
4 G. The dairy is a paved and whitewashed chamber railed oft' from the 
parlor, and occupies one half the width of the stage between the third 
and fourth grooves R., it has a rough latched door on the L. side, which 
opens to the cow-yard. Distributed on the walls and floor of this dairy 
are a churn, yokes, and a number of milk cans of all descriptions. The 
parlor occupying the stage as far back as the third grooves is neatly papered 
and comfortably though humbly furnished, with the exception of a piano 
placed down r. A door (supposed to open to the street) R. 3 E., with a 
practicable bolt or lock on its inner side. Another dour, on which 
hangs a large slate, L. 2 E. Fireplace and mantel-shclfat L, 3 E. A green 
wooden railing or fence running from r. 3 e., to c, of flat, with gate mid- 
way, separates the dairy from the parlor. In the half flat, L. c. is an 
open window, with curtains, through which the cow-yard is seen. Easy 
chair near window; table L. c. with chairs on each side of it. On the 
walls hang an old-fashioned clock, picture of a cow, and a whip. Door 
mat at door, R. 3 e. Carpet down. 

Act II. — White's bedroom, in 3 g., backed with interior (corridor) 
backing in 4 G. Door R. c. in flat. Door R. 2 e. Fireplace and mantel- 
shelf L. 2 e. Curtained bed (made up) up c, against flat, with its head 
R. Chest at foot of bed. Chair between head of bed and door, r. c. ; 
another chair near the head of bed. Easy chair down L. Small 
round table near fire place. Toilet table down R., on which are a mirror, 
comb and brush. Portrait of Annie hanging against wall, over bed. 
Rug or piece of carpet down. 

STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

The player is supposed to face the audience. R. means right ; 
L., left ; c, centre ; R. c, right of centre ; L. c, left of centre ; D. F., 
door in the flat or scene running across the back of the stage ; R. F., 
right side of the flat ; L. F., leftside of the flat ; R. D., right door ; L. D., 
left door ; i e., first entrance ; 2 E., second entrance; U. E., upper en- 
trance; I, 2 or 3 G., first, second or third grooves ;" UP STAGE, toward 
the liack ; DOWN STAGE, toward the footlights. 
R. R. C. C. L. C. L. 

Note.— The text of this plav is correctly reprinted from the original 
authorized acting edition, without change. The introductory matter has 
been carefully prepared by an expert, and is the only part of this book 
protected by copyright. 





MILKY WHITE. 



ACT 1. 

Scene. — Daniel White s Parlor and Dairy. 

Dick {a cowboy) passes the window, from L. u. E., and enters 
at the door, L., in dairy, carrying heaiiy milk cans with a 
yoke, which he leaves at back, and comes through gate cf 
rails ; wipes his feet on the rug and enters the parlor, cross- 
ing to slate, which hangs on the door, L. 2 E. 

Dick, {as he writes on slate with a lump of chalk) There ! 
I've pumped the cows and milked the pump ; now to chalk it up 
and send it out. What a perseweriny chap I am ! hooked thice 
new customers yesterday in the place o' one as hooked it the day 
afore ; our walk will soon run through the wliole parish, and all 
along o' me ; but my master — Milky White, as the boys call him, 
don't 'preciate me properly. Why ain't my wages riz ? Why don't 
he give me a share in the business, if it comes to that ? Why, if 
I was to go and leave him, he'd lose more than half his customers ; 
for though he's my master, there never was a mortal so mortally 
disliked — he hasn't a blessed friend — always going to law with 
somebody or another. " Milky White's a brute ! " " Milky 
White's a onfeeling monster ! " "I should like to see Milky 
White ruined and in the workus ! " them's the pleasant little 
obserwations as I'm obligated for to listen to from the neighbors ; 
and why do I stay to be blowed up and worked thirteen hours a 
day ? Why don't I strike ? he can but knock me down for strik- 
ing ; ah, here comes my answer. 

Enter Annik, door L. 2 E. 

Annie, {crossing to C.) Now Dick, look alive or you'll catch 
it. Where's father ? 

Dick. (E.) In the cow yard with that "ere swell young cow- 
doctor — Smith. That young chap's got talent, mind ye ; he's 



8 MILKY WHITE. 

saved Bessy, the short-horn ; she's getting round again, and the 
gov'nor's as pleased as Punch ; he seems to take to the young 
surgin as you fetched, uncommon, and that's saying something ; 
for he's the most passionate, short temperdest brute as- 

Annie, [seated R. of table and working) Don't you dare to say 
such things to me, Dick ; he's a good father, and never denies 
me anything. 

Dick. (L. of table) No, Annie, 'cos you're his strong weakness ; 
it's my opinion he doesn't care a ha'porth of sour milk for any 
one else in the world, and I'm getting into the same way myself. 
Do you care for 7He ? 

Annie. Care for you ? of course I do ; ain't I always kind to 
you Dick ? 

Dick. You always looks out that I have wittles enough, that I 
will say for you ; but my heart wants feeding as well as my 
stomach, and something*? come over me, Annie, as undermindges 
all my appetite : the pudding as you make sticks in my throat, 
and without making any fuss about it, I feel that I'm quietly walk- 
ing into my tomb. 

Annie. Oh, Dick, keep yourself up, or what's to become of 
us all ? 

Dick. Keep myself up ! I can't keep myself up ; it depends 
upon you whether I don't flop down altogether. You wouldn't 
like to see the red cows feeding on the green grass as grows over 
my grave, would you ? 

Annie. Gracious ! no, Dick, for I'm sure they wouldn't yield 
on that ; besides, they wouldn't be allowed to graze in the 
churchyard. 

Dick, [pathetically) But don't let 'em drive 'em away, Annie. 
I couldn't rest happy if I didn't know as the beings I milked when 
I was alive, was feeding on me when I was diseased, [sheds 
tears) 

Annie. But you're robust enough ; you're not going to die. 

Dick. You wouldn't like to see it, would you 1 Then have I 
your leave to speak to Milky ? 

Annie. Of course, Dick ; if there's anything on your mind, 
have it out with father, like a man. 

Dick. I'll beard the lion in his cow-house ; I'll make him under- 
stand, deaf as he is. [going up to dairy, and taking his yoke and 
cans) Bless you, Annie, you've made the cream of hope rise to 
my top ; now I can cheerfully serve out the skim. 

Exit at door, R. 3 E., attd is heard without, calling " Me- 
a-ovv ! " 

Annie. What can he have to say to father ? Poor boy, I dare 
say he wants a rise of wages — ten shillings a week isn't much — 
he's worth more. 



MILKY WHITE. 9 

Archibald appears at the windoiv, from L. u E. 

Arch. Gentle Annie ; here I am again, you see. (disappears, 
andentexaparlor through the dairy, coining down, L.) 

Anuie. You seem to take great interest in our cows. 

Arch. Cows I vaccine idea. No, I've an aspiration above 
that, and mean to go in for a degree in the regular college of 
surgeons ; I'm only two and twenty, and not going to be a vet. 
all my life. I shall adopt a specialty, that's the way to rise ; 
and I've been reading up the pathognomonicks of the human ear 
— for it's my opinion there's a good deal to be done in cases of 
deafness which has never yet been thought of. 

Annie. My poor father is dreadfully deaf, I wish you could do 
something for him. 

Arch. I have diagnosed his case 

Annie. Dognosed it ? What's that .'' 

Arch. Thought about it. 

Annie. Is that all ? 

Arch. It's simple enough, {sitting on table) You see, his deaf- 
ness was produced by a violent blow on the left mastoid process ; 
now the membrana tympani at the extremity of the meatus ora- 
torius being perforated, cannot communicate its vibrations to the 
nervous fasciculi, and 

Annie. Are you talking to me .? 

Arch. Yes. 

Annie. Then surely English would be more musical. 

Arch. It would ; his drum's broken, and the organ being de- 
stroyed, a trumpet is useless. 

Annie. But can you assist him .'' that's the question. 

Arch. We'll see ; I've invented an artificial gutta-percha tym- 
panum, and I'll try it. 

Annie. I think it's partly the deafness which makes him so 
irritable. 

Arch. Irritable ! there's no telling how to have him ; but with 
all his faults, there's something in the governor's character I 
like. 

Annie. Ah, I'm so pleased to hear you say so, for everybody 
seems to have a harsh word for poor father. 

Arch. He's so confoundedly fond of going to law ; I believe 
he has no sympathy but with you and his cows ; but even they, 
one would think, might give him some milk of human kindness. 

Annie. I often fancy there is something on his mind. 

Arch. I know what it is. 

Annie. You ! and known him but three weeks 

Arch. {taki?tg chair and sitting L. ^y ANNIE, drawing close to 
her side) Annie my, girl, tell me a secret, and I'll share mine 
with you. Do you really and truly love me ? 



lo MILKY WHITE. 

Annie. Archy, for a sensible young man, what a goose you are. 

Arch. True ; you decided my fate last Michaelmas ; in fact, 
you hinted a week ago, that if I can squeeze out your father's 
consent, you will become my own little wife. Oh, the delight of 
having a wife of one's own ! 

Anuie. Yes, I think it's best to have one of one's own ; don't 
you t 

Arch. Listen to a soporific relation. 

Annie. What's that — an intended husband ? 

Arch. No, a sleepy story. My father was once treacherously 
forestalled in a love affair by his partner — rushed far from the 
scene of his blighted hopes ; and what revenge do you think he 
took on this false friend .'' 

Annie. Killed him 1 

Arch. No ; he killed himself 

Annie. Then you never had a father ? 

Arch. When I say he killed himself, I mean he caused a letter 
to be written to this false friend, giving an account of his suicide ; 
don't you see ? That was calculated to produce remorse, which 
ranks first as a lasting punishment. 

Annie. Sometimes I have imagined poor father suffers from 
something of that kind. 

Arch. That was thirty years ago ; time passed, and my incon- 
solable dad found a wife in Jersey. I was the sole result. 

Annie. What's the result ? 

Arch. I mean, I was the only child. 

Annie. Why didn't you say so ? 

Arch. My mother died five, and my father two years ago ; he 
had educated me for a veterinary surgeon, but all the money he 
left me was two thousand pounds. 

Annie. Why, Archy, you told me you were as poor as a church 
mouse : — two thousand pounds ! 

Arch. I haven't a penny of it. 

Annie. You wicked spendthrift ! 

Arch. Speculation. I bought at Garraway's the reversion to 
four thousand pounds, which I shall come at on the death of a 
man of sixty. 

Annie. Then you are anxiously waiting for the man of sixty 
to die ? 

Arch. Well, not exactly ; though I have heard it is likely to 
happen very soon. But he's a wicked old fellow, and according 
to all accounts, the sooner he's gone the better. 

Annie. And what will you do when you g-et the money ? 

Arch. Run away with you ; it was my father's last request 
that I should see you, and if I could love you (which I do — 
dearly) to complete his revenge by taking from White his only 
treasure. 



MILKY WHITE. ii 



Annie, {dropping her ivork) Then my father was 

Arch. The false friend, {rises) 

Annie, {rising) And you think I will break his heart by such 
a deed ? Never ! Unless he should drive me from him, I will 
never leave without his consent. 

Arch. (L. C.) He casually told me to-day that he'll never con- 
sent to your marrying at all. 

Annie, (c) Then 1 must stay with him and be his comfort ; 
poor man, he has no wife — no other child, and if he thought I 
did not love him better than all the world, I'm sure he would die. 

Arch. And you make such a trifle as that an obstacle to my 
happiness, after all the trouble I've taken to fall in love — that is, 
to gain your love ! Didn't I, regardless of expense, secure a 
lodging in the very house where I found you went to take music 
lessons ? Haven't I doctored all your father's cows for nothing ? 
Am I not going to operate upon his ears 

White appears at the window, L. C. 

White, {in a blustering voice) Here ! hi ! huUoa ! you doc- 
tor chap, come here ; I want you as a witness. I'll enter an 
action against the Company ! 

Arch, {going up, L. c, to window) What's the matter .'' 

White. Here's a 'bus scraped the paint off the wheel of my 
dung cart ! I'll be down upon 'em. {calling off, L.) I'll see my 
solicitor about this ; what's your number ? Take the vagabond's 
number ! hi ! huUoa ! he's off! {disappears, L. u. E., and is 
heard without, calling) "Stop him ! stop him !" 

Arch, {crossing to L.) There he goes ; he'd spend twenty 
pounds in law to recover a si.xpence for paint ; ha ! ha ! he is a 
character ! 

Enter MRS. Saddrip, without bonnet, at door, R. 3 E. 

Mrs. S. {coming down, R.) Oh, Miss White, will you excuse 
my speaking before a stranger ; but my heart's full— do you 
know of this ? {holding out a copy of a writ) Here's a writ served 
on me by your father, because my cat killed three of your young 
chickens. I couldn't help it ; I offered to pay for them, but he's 
determined to bring it into Court. To serve an unprotected 
woman and a next-door neighbor this way is too bad ; he's a 
wretch ! 

Annie. No, no, don't say that ; I dare say he didn't under- 
stand that you offered to pay, for you know he's so deaf. 

Mrs S. Deaf! I wish he were dumb too. for of all the abusive 

men oh, it's dreadful ! but I'm not afraid of him ; I'll give 

it him ! 

White, {re-appearing at window, I,. U. K.) Some rascal has 
put a dead rat into my water butt ; that's Mother Saddrip's rat. 



12 MILKY WHITE. 

I know the breed ; she shall pay smartly for it, if she don't, may 

White enters through the dairy and comes down, C. 

{seeing Mrs. Saddrip) Holloa ! ho ! hey ! what are you doing 
in my parlor ? Who sent for you — what do you want ? 

Mrs. S. (R.) You know well enough, you wretch ! 

"White, {as though listening) What do you say — you're a 
widow ? I know you are 1 poisoned your husband, everybody 
knows it. I know what_y^2/ are — any one can see w\\3.\. you are. 

Mrs. S. (R., to Annie) Oh, did you ever ! 

Annie, {back, C.) Never mind, he doesn't mean anything. 

White, (c, to Mrs. Saddrip, who holds the writ in her 
hand.) You're right, I am going to lug you into Court, that's 
just what I'm going to do. 

Mrs. S. No wonder you're hated by everybody ; I wouldn't 
have the odious character you've got in the neighborhood for all 
the gold in the mint. 

White. That's all soft soap ; I'm not a good-hearted man at 
bottom, as you shall find. Did you put that dead rat into my 
water butt .'' 

Mrs. S. I, you wretch ? what a filthy idea, no ! 

White. Oh, you say you saw Jones do it, did you ? very well, 
I'll subpoena you, I'll rat you, drat you. {to Archibald who 
cotnes down, L.) You're witness she says she saw Jones do it. 

Arch. (l. aside) Bless me, if I don't take care, he'll make me 
perjure myself before I know what I'm talking about. 

White. (C, to Archibald) You're right, those were her very 
words, (^turning to Mrs. Saddrip) but I haven't done with you 
yet. Mother Saddrip. 

Arch, {aside, L.) Is her name Saddrip .'' Now that's very sin- 
gular. 

White. You'll have to bundle out of your house ; I mean to 
throw a nest of cow-sheds through your wash-house. 

Mrs S. A nest of cow-sheds ! why, you're talking like a mad- 
man as you are ; I've got a seven years' lease. 

White. I've offered to buy the premises of Blotch, if he'll 
bundle you out. 

Mrs. S. But he can't do it ! 

White. What do you say — " You hope we won't be hard upon 
you ? " You shall see — you shall see. 

Mrs. S. Do you understand this ? {snaps her fingers under 
his nose) 

White. Yes, that means impidence ! You mean to say you 
defy us, eh ? Now, look here, according to your lease you was 
to paint yourself down every three year — now, to my knowledge, 
you've been four year in that house, and never even washed 



MILKY WHITE. 13 

your outside — it's disgraceful ! what must your zwside be ? The 
lease is null and void — {snapping his fingers under her nose) 
do you understand that, eh ? Besides, I'm not always going to 
have your trumpery shop under my nose ; you'll have notice to 
quit, to-day. 

Mrs, S. You monster ! Mr. Blotch is too much a gentleman to 
do such a thing ; I believe it's a wicked fabrication. 

"White. I can see that woman's kicking up a row — take her 
away ; I mustn't have my peaceful home disturbed — take her by 
the shoulders and put her out ! (Archibald crosses to Mrs. 
Saddrip and persuades her to go) 

Mrs. S. {at door, R. 3 E.) Ugh ! you abominable wretch ! 

Exit, R. 3. E. 

"White. Throw something at her ! {turning to Annie, who is 
back, c.) Annie, my girl, give us a kiss — why you've only 
bussed your old dad once to-day ; you know you haven't, you 
puss ! {kisses her heartily) There go and buy yourself that smart 
little bonnet you took a fancy to. {gives her money, and she is 
going out at door, R.) Stop ! Stop ! {she returns) It was in 
Wilson's shop, wasn't it .-' (Annie nods) Ah, I'm going to indict 
him for keeping pigeons that pick all the mortar out of my 
chimneys ; go to Babble's, if you pay twice the monev. {crosses 

to L.) 

Annie, {at back, R., to Archibald) Isn't he a dear old father ? 
I wish he could hear ; I think I might persuade him to do many 
kind things, if he could only listen to reason. 

"White, {turnifig attd seeing Annie still there) There, be off 
and get it at once, or perhaps I may think twice about it. 

Exit Annie, r. 3 e., White crosses to the door which he opens 
and looks after her. 

"White. Isn't that a girl of girls, eh. Smith ? What do I care 
for all the world, while I've got a companion like that ! Look at 
her figure going down the road, {pointing off) See how she skips 
over that puddle ; that's grace after dinner, isn't it ? talk about 
your statutes and your busks ; there's the real article, {comes 
down c, tuith Archibald) And that girl loves me too — rayther : 
she's an affectionate disposition. Smith. 

Arch. (L. C.) I know it, old fellow. 

"White. (R. C.) You've hit it ; as you say — she's not the sort to 
marry and desert her old father. And she's accomplished too — 
oh, bless you, I've had her taught a little of everything. Have 
you heard her sing ? 

Arch. Oftener than you think, old boy. 

"White. Oh, haven't you ? Well, then it would do you good. 
D'ye notice that pianny forty ? that was coming out strong, wasn't 
it ? {goes to piano, R.) Bought it at a sale, for five-and-twenty 



14 MILKY WHITE. 

pound ; and then summonsed the auctioneer for a wrong de- 
scription in the catalogue — recovered five, [poking at the keys 
with his forefinger) A nice article, eh ? 

Arch, (c.) Yoii are. 

White. And she's the nicest girl— ah, within ten miles. 

Arch. That she is ; there I fall in with you. 

White, {watching his lips) You don't think so 1 {ttirfting 
from him with co7itempt) You're a hass ! And for half a farth- 
ing I'd give you an exterior view of my premises, only I want you 
to operate upon my ears before I bundle you out. 

Arch, {aside) K fistic operation would do you good. 

White, {returning to him) I don't mind telling you in con- 
fidence, but if any young fellow — don't care who — should pro- 
pose to take that girl away from me 

Arch, {aside) He's going to offer her to me. 

White. I'd fell the fellow like an ox. 

Arch, {aside) There's a butcher ! 

White. No, you're wrong there ; she won't be left destitute. 
To be sure, I haven't saved much money — lost so many con- 
founded lawsuits — but I manage to pay up a heavy life insurance 
— four thousand pound. Smith ; that's pretty well thankee, for a 
cowkeeper, isn't it ! Well, that will be hers when I go aloft. 

Arch, {aside) Or below ; a mere matter of conjecture. 

White. You're quite right ; it's likely to be long before that 
happens ; but look here, she doesn't know that I can leave her 
anything, and I wouldn't have her know it for the world ; promise 
me as a man — I won't say a gentleman, — because you're no gentle- 
man 

Arch, {aside) Complimentary ! 

White. But promise me, as a man, that you'll never mention 
what I've let slip out unawares ; it would break the child's heart 
to think it possible that I could ever die ; she loves me so, bless 
her ! And as to her leaving me, there's one comfort, she couldn't 
love anybody else, if she tried ever so hard. What did you say — 
" gammon ? " If you say that again, I'll knock you down ! 

Arch. Then I'll be content with knowing it's gammon, you 
cantankerous old whitewash vendor. 

White. That's enough ! If you beg my pardon, that's enough; 
we'll say no more about it. Now, how about my ears — are you 
going to operate ? (Archibald nods) Have you got your chest 
of tools with you .? (Archibald nods) Then go upstairs to my 
bedroom, and wait till I come to you. (Archibald is going, L. 
2 E.) But stop, come here ; mind, if you make a mull of it, I'll 
proceed against you for practising without a deploomy. I fancy 
I should recover. 

Arch, (l.) Grateful rascal ! you deserve to recover. 

White. (L. C.) But I don't see why you should fail, you un- 



MILKY WHITE. 15 

derstand the 'natomy of a beast — why shouldn't you understand 
mine ? 

Arch. My argument exactly. 

White. And when you've done it, I'll give you a treat ; you 
shall hearmy darling little Nan sing; there, be off and get 
your lancers ready for action. 

Exit Archibald at door, l. 2 e, 
{rubbing his hands) The very idea of getting back my ears fills 
me with noble emotions. Won't I go into Court and bully Mother 
Saddrip ! I hate that woman, (turning up stage) 

Enter Dick Dugs at door, R. 3 e., with pails which he goes 
into dairy with. 

Holloa, slow coach, and what are you doing out at this time o' 
the morning ? Put away your pails, you slouching, idle vaga- 
bond, and go and put down your milk. There, don't stare, but 
do it ! 

Dick, [crossing at back to L., and taking up slate) He seems 
rayther good tempered to what he is generally. I'm game to 
put it to him — blest if I ain't. 

White, (^sitting K. of table, and taking out an old tne/noran- 
duin book and pencil, writing) And mind you put it down 
correct to-day ; don't make such curds and whey of it, as you 
did yesterday, or I'll knock your wurzel-looking head off ! you — 
you — (Dick, r. C, thrusts the slate into the hand of WHITE, 
and stands in a triumphant attitude) What's this ? (reads) 
" I've been and got two new customers — five-pinters a day." 
Well, mind you keep 'em up to the mark, or I'll get somebody 
as will, (giving slate back to Dick) Go on with your milk list. 
(Dick sits and ivrites 1.. of table. — White is turning over the 
leaves of his memorandum book) Let's see, [scratching his head 
with his pencil) I've got summonses out against Jackson, and 
Hoppy Slope, and the tailor in Clip Street ; that's the way to do 
business, if they dispute your bill, County Court 'em — put 'em to 
expense, [turns and sees Dick scratching his head) What are 
you forking up your litter about, stupid ? 

Dick, [aside) I wonder if consent is spelt with a C or a K. 
[writing) K-o-n-s-e-n-t ; that looks all right, [writing) 

White. Don't forget Mother Cox's new-laid eggs. By-the-bye, 
who supplies her with milk ? My com])liments to Mother Cox, 
and I'm not going to supply new-laid eggs without I have the 
milk custom — understand that ! 

Dick, (writing) Business is spelt with a z ; that's it — there. 
[rises and thrusts the slate under the nose of White, who is 
looking in another direction — White is startled — pockets his 
memorandum book and peticil, and takes the slate) I've done it ! 
Lawks what a prosperation I'm in. 



i6 MILKY WHITE. 

"White, {glancing down the slate) What in the name of the 
asylum for idiots is all this ? (reads) " I love Annie." (White 
drops tJie slate on to his knee atid looks round at DiCK in horror 
and disgust — DiCK unconscious of White's action, has his 
hand to his heart, and shakes his head seiitimentally) Reach 
me my horsewhip ! (DiCK is going) Stop a minute, {takes up 
the slate and reads again) " I love Annie ; Annie loves me ! " 
{Dick pulls up his shirt collar) Why you — you — you — stop a 
bit ! (reads) "You'd better give your consent to our marriage, 
and give me a share in the business — say a third." 

Dick, (leatiing across the table and grinning) That's about 
the size of it. 

(White with deliberation places the slate on the table — 
rises, and tucks up his cuffs, which latter action causes 
a change from exultation to terror in Dick'S counte- 
nance^ 

White. (C.) Why, ye scarecrow — ye scum — ye sack of grains 
— get out of my sight or I'll flay you. (DiCK retreats round the 
table as WHITE adi'ances) Take this, (flinging at DiCK the jug 
which was on the table) and this ! {kicking him, as he stoops 
for his pail in the dairy) And this ! (taking DiCK by the scruff 
of the neck, putting him to the door, R. U. E., and kicking hint) 
There's my answer ! 

Dick, (blubbering) Oh, that's di final answer. 

Exit at door, R. 3 E. 

White. A vermin ! My Nan ! Ah ! ah ! That beats cock- 
fighting ! A rascal, to upset my nervous system, just as I'm 
going to undergo a frightful operation ; but I'll be even with 
him — I'll strangle him in the cowhouse. And now I'm a little 
more calm and collected, I'll let young Smith go to work. 
(crosses to C.) My girl and a thing like that^it puts one in mind 
of the tale of Beauty and the nasty Beast. E^t at door, L. 2 E. 

Enter Annie (with a smart bonnet on) at door, R. 3 E. 

Annie, (speaking to DiCK, who is without) Father is not 
here ; come in, Dick, and tell me all about it: don't be afraid ; 
don't cry. 

Enter DiCK (blubbering), door, R. 3 E. 

Dick. He's wownded my tenderest feelings. Ain't this a free 
country 1 Why am I treated like a nigger ? I asked him a civil 
question. Why should he pitch the pitcher at me ? I don't 
mind his tongue, I'm manured to that ; but why should he kick 
at me when my back was turned .? 



MILKY WHITE. 17 

Annie. (L. C.) You must have exasperated my father. What 
question did you ask him ? 

Dick. What you told me to. {crosses to L., takes slate from 
tabic and hands it to Annie) Oh, the inflammation of his top- 
boots goes right up to my shoulders. 

Annie, {reads) Did you write this ? 

Dick. (C.) Without once looking at a di.xonary. 

Annie. (R. C.) You presuming, bad boy ! How dare you-take 
such a scandalous liberty ? What do you mean ? 

Dick. What, have )'(??< turned agin me, after the martherdom 
I've suffered for your sake ? That's worse than the kick. Didn't 
you tell me as you loved me, and I might speak to Milky White ? 

Annie. Oh, you quite misunderstood me ; I never dreamed 
that you meant that. 1 said I liked you, and so I do, for we've 
been companions for a long time. Dick, don't cry ; I can't bear 
to see a boy cry. 

Dick. Then you don't tliink you could larn to love me ? 

Annie. No, Dick. 

Dick. Don't you think there's anything you could take for it ? 

Annie. I'll be candid with you, Dick; it's best. I love another. 

Dick, {bursts out blubbering) That's a settler ! That kick's in 
a wital part. 

Annie. Now, dear Dick, I'll make a friend of you — you'll keep 
my secret, I know, {putting her arm in his) Let us take a nice 
romantic walk in the cow-yard, and I'll tell you who it is — he 
likes ^^^^ uncommonly,- I can tell you that for your consolation. 
{he goes up, c.) 

Dick. If I run foul of him when I'm armed with my yokes, I'll 
give ///;;/ consolation. 

Annie. Nonsense, you're a good lad, and I'm sure you'll listen 
to reason. Come, and I'll tell you all about it ; you'll sympa- 
thize with us, for you've a large heart, {leading him through 
the door in the dairy.) 

Dick, {as they pass the wiftdoiv, going, L.) Oh, the small of 
my back, {they disappear, L. u. E., and are heard talking as 
they go.) 

Enter ARCHIBALD/r<7w door, I.. 2 E., and crosses to R. 

Arch. (R. C, with exultation) That's done ! I've introduced 
my gutta percha tympanum, and I'll stake my reputation that 
when he removes the bandage to-morrow, he'll hear as distinctly 
as I do. 

Enter WHITE {with a white bandage round his ears and head), 
from door, L. 2 E., and crosses to Archibald, c. 

■White, {holding up his fiii^-er, threateningly) Now mind, i( 
I don't recover my hearing after all that, I'll haul you up to the 



l8 MILKY WHITE. 

police court, my fine fellow ; you're not going to try your exper- 
iments on me for nothing ; I'm not a cow — d'ye hear ? I'm not 
a cow ! 

Arch. More of a mule. 

White. Eh I what did you say ? 

Arch. Nothing ! no matter. 

"White. It sounded like fool. 

Arch, {aside, delighted) All right ; it's a successful operation ! 

■White. No tricks with me, my lad, I'm just about the wrong 
sort of customer, {suddenly) I'm not going to pay you a fee you 
know, because you've no legal right to do this sort o' thing — 
you're an impostor — I suppose you know that — you're a quack ! 
but I promised you should hear my Nan sing, and I'll keep my 
word. Oh, mind you, I'm a man of my word, {turning up) 
There she is in the cow-yard, talking to that idiot cow-boy. 
(calling out of tuindoiv) Here, Nan — hoy ! (beckons) Nan, 
my pet, come here ! I want you to sing one of your nice little 
songs to the cow-doctor. (Archibald, r., expresses antioy- 
ance) Lud, if I could hear her sing — only a little bit — ever so 
little, {coming down, C.) Doctor, may I lift up the bandage and 
try ? 

Arch, (shakitig his head vehemently) No, no, there's danger 
of otorrhoea setting in. 

"White. I'm almost certain I heard while I was upstairs. Didn't 
you say something about my bump of benevolence ? 

Arch. I said it required development. 

"White. I've got some rare lumps behind the ear. {taking 
Archibald's hand, and placing it on his own head) Now 
what d'ye call this here one ? Not-a-bad-sortiveness ? 

Arch, (aside) His combativeness is the size of an apple dump- 
ling. 

"White. Now, look here ; whatever you do, don't tell my 
darling that I've had an operation performed, it would frighten 
her to death, she loves me so, bless her ! (Archibald, r., shakes 
his head) Mind you don't, or I'll put you forward — I'll knock 
you into the middle of next week ! 

Enter Annie_/V(7w l. U. e., passes the wittdow, and comes 
throjigh the.dairy. 

Arch, (aside) That's all the apple dumpling. (Annie comes 
down, L., and touches White 07i the shoulder) 

"White. (C, turning to her) Ah, Nanny, my pet, come 
and sing the cow-doctor one of your nice little songs. 

Annie, (nodding) I'll ?^w\<g you one, father, if you wish it. 

"White. Yes, sing that, it'll do as well as any (her bonnet 

catches his eye) What's this, the new tile ? oh, it's not half 
aristrokatic enough for my pet. After you've sung, you must 



I 



MILKY WHITE. 19 

get it changed for something more stunning, {crosses to L.) 
I'll give you the mopuses. 

Annie, (c, pointing to White's head) Father, what have you 
been putting that bandage round your head tor .'' you look so 
funny, {pointing) 

White. Eh ? Oh, ah ! this thingumbob — oh, I'd got a split- 
ting headache right through my bump of benevolence, but it's all 
right now. Tune up my lass. (ANNIE sits at the piano, R., 
Archibald leaning over her and adjusting her music. White 
sits L. of the table, takes out his knife, and trims his nails) 

Arch. {Jo Annie) He thinks this is the first time 1 have heard 
you. 

Annie, {seated at piatto and lookifig back at Archib.^ld) 
You mean it's no treat ; but mind, I sing to please father, he's 
such a dear father. 

Arch. And buys us such dear bonnets. 

White, {aside) Has she begun, I wonder? {aloud to Archi- 
bald) It's beautiful, isn't it ? (Annie strikes a loud chord) 
Holloa ! 

Annie. What's the matter, father ? 

White, {aside, scarcely able to conceal his intettse delight) 
I heard something ! I heard something ! I thought the doctor 
had sold me — he's healed me ! (^as A'H'HI'E. plays the symphony, 
he looks round and watches her) She's singing now — beautiful ! 

Annie, {sings) 

Whom did I love, when on her breast, 
I hourly sought my infant rest .'' 
Whom did I trust in ere my tongue 
Could mock the lullaby she sung ? 
Whose gentle form, whose watching eye, 
In cradle dream seem'd ever nigh ? 
I had not learn'd to know another. 
For then I only loved — my mother ! 

"White, {speaking durinsr the symphony) I wish I could hear 
her ; I've a good mind to lift up the bandage and try, I will too. 
{draws his chair a little more to R., atid lifts the bandage from 
the right ear — his onotions while the second verse is being sung, 
show surprise, delight, atid extreme affection) 

Annie, {sitigs) 

Whom did I love as time flew on, 
And she was lost — forever gone ? 
Whose doting lip was ever near 
To kiss away my orphan tear ? 
Whose fond affection taught me then, 



20 MILKY WHITE. 

With ardor fresh, to love again ? 

No stranger lur'd my heart ; but rather 

I clung alone to thee — my father ! 

Arch. Delightful ! the best song I ever heard. 

White, [wiping his eyes, L. c.) That's beautiful, that is ; that's 
the sort of music I shall hear when I go aloft. (Archibald 
suddenly perceives that White has partially removed the batid- 
age, and runs to him, C, to replace it) 

Arch, {aside to White) Are you mad ? You'll ruin yourself ! 

White, {aside to Archibald, in great excitement) It's all 
right, doctor ! I can hear ! I can — (Archibald has re-adjusted 
the bandage) No, I can't hear now. {pointing to Annie) Doctor, 
that makes us quits, does it not ? (Archibald nods) I should 
think it did, and something over ; you've got something to give 
7ne novf. {crosses, L.C, to A'ii'HiY,, who is now turning from the 
piano) Kiss me, my darling, {kisses her with great affection) 
Now go and get your bonnet changed, my pet ; get one as pretty 
as yourself, if there is such a bonnet in existence, {crosses to L.) 

Annie. Oh father ! {going, R. 3 E.) 

Arch, {lip C.) Here, I know something of bonnet anatomy ; 
I'll go with you. 

Exit Annie, door R. 3 e., followed by Archibald. 

Wliite. (l., turning suddenly) Hi ! hi ! young Smith ; there's 
no occasion for you to go too ! {runs up to door) Hi ! — he's gone. 
{comes down, C.) Now that's a young fellow as is likely to rise 
in his profession ; he's in earnest in what he does ; he'll come 
to be a great— hun>— ah — earist — that's it — carist; and he's a what 
d'ye call it— a phlebotomist — examines people's bumps — says my 
benevolence wants development. Benevolence ! — what is benevo- 
lence ? — doing unto others what nobody will do unto you ; but 
I've got my ears again — ha ! ha ! Milky White's a perfect man 
once more. Now I can listen to my darling as she sits and 
reads to me of a winter's evening — now I — I — -I mtist try ; I'm so 
impatient ; I must see if I can still hear, {removes the bandage 
— clock without strikes one) It's all right ; I can hear like one 
o'clock ; now I shall listen to nothing but pleasant sounds all day 
long. 

A Boy thrusts his head in at the window, L. C, and shouts. 

Yahoo !— hoo ! Milky White, 

He'll growl and bite ; 

Deaf as a beadle — Milky White ! 

Ya-hoo ! Boy disappears, L. u. E. 

White, {running up to the window) Hi ! holloa ! what are 



MILKY WHITE. z\ 

those boys doing in my covvyard ? Cut their young legs off with 
the cart whip, intakes the whip, which hatigs on the wall, and 
throws it out of the window, off, L. u. E.j I'll " Milky White' 
'em. That's Mother Saddrip's boy ; I know the breed. (Mrs. 
Saddrip speaks without, R. u. E.)'Oh ! here she is ! Now for 
any quantity of soft soap ; now she'll try to wheedle me over, {sits 
L, of table) I'll pretend not to hear her blarney; I'll gammon 
deafness this time. 

Enter MRS. Saddrip at door, r. u. e. — she looks round, and out 
of the window. 

Mrs. S. {at back, to White who is seated, L.) Where's your 
daughter, you wretch .'' It's no use trying to make such an old 
adder as you understand. 

White, {aside) That woman has evidently taken a degree in 
the College of Billingsgate, (aloud to her,and waving his hand) 
I've got nothing at all to say to you, ma'am, {aside) I'll aggra- 
vate her by being dreadfully cool. 

Mrs. S. {coning dowti, Q.) But I've something to say to you, 
you bad man ! 

"White, {aside) A cowcumber's a fool to me. 

Mrs. S. I've just had a notice from Blotch ; you're trying to 
ruin a poor, unprotected woman, but a judgment will come on 
you for your wickedness. 

White, {aside, chuckling) She's going mad at my being so 
deliciously cool. 

Mrs. S. The only being you care for in the world is your 
daughter ; she'll be taken away from you, and then you'll hang 
yourself ; that's my prophecies ! 

White, {jumping up, furiously) Get out ! 

Boy re-appears at the window, points and sings. 

Boy. Milky White, he'll growl and bite 

"White. Get out ! {flinging his hat at the boy, who disap- 
pears instantly) 

Mrs. S. {up, R.) Folks say your wife never loved you, and 
your daughter will be glad enough when you're dead, I dare 
say. 

White. Vicious cat ; get out ! {pointing to the door) 

Mrs. S. Do you really hear what I say ? You'll die like a dog 
• — deserted by everybody. 

"White. Get out ! Exit MRS. SADDRIP, at door, R. 3 E. 

"White, {coming down, C.) Isn't it a scandal to a great country 
like- this, that there's no law to hang a woman at once for saying 
such a thing as that ? Why didn't she say it an hour ago, when 
I couldn't hear her? Not'that I doubt my child — my darling, 
bless her — no ! but the very idea of such a thing makes one's 



22 MILKY WHITE. 

hair stand on one's end. {Tixcv. fiasses the window from L. to 
R.) Who sent for you ? How dare you show your ugly nose here 
again ? 

Dick tiuiidly enters through dairy. 

There — ^et to your work {^pointing to the slate, which is on the 
table) A double share of work is the share in the business I'll 
^w^you my lad. {sits R. of table) 

Dick, {coming L. of the table, and surlily taking up the slate) 
There'll be a jollitication the day as you kicks the bucket. 
(White, who is about to blow his 7iose, stops, and looks at 
Dick aghast) I'll come the double shuffle on that there occasion. 

White, {aside) There's a scoundrel for you ! He thinks I 
can't hear, {aloud to Dick) I'll lower your wages my fine fellow; 
any ass can do your work. 

Dick. Then do it yourself ! (White leaiis back atid gapes at 
Dick in astonishment) But you can't live forever, that's one 
comfort. 

White, {aside) Going to murder me ! the murderous rascal ! 
the — the— 

Enter Annie, at door, r. 3 e., with a fresh bonnet on ; she 
runs to White, c. 

Ah, that's something like, that is ! {rises) Take it off, my pet, 
and let's feel the weight on it : {holds it up admiringly) That'll 
take the shine out of the cow-faced girls ofStubbs's, over the 
way. Put it on again, darling ! By the bye, I mean to indict 
Stubbs for throwing oystershel Is into the thoroughfare — confound 
the fellow, he eats oysters three times a day ; I'll jist look over 
the Act and see what I can do with him. {crossing to\..) I don't 
believe that, legally, a man can eat oysters three times a day. 
Stand out of the way ! {pushes Dick roughly, who retreats to 
R. c.) Exit White, through door, L. 2. E. 

Annie, {crossing and sifting L. of table, holding up the bon- 
net) Dick, don't you think I can do without this bow ? 

Dick, {sitting 'R. of table) It seems you can do without this 
here beau. Don't talk to me about your gimcracks ; I've done 
with the good things of this world : I'd put 'em all down if I had 
my way. {writing on slate) Half a pint of cream for Mrs. GoUop. 

Annie, {altering the bow 07i the bonnet) Nonsense, Dick ; 
haven't I told you, in confidence, all about Archy "i You're not 
like the dog in the manger ! 

Dick. But I don't see as father dog has much of a chance ; 
Milky will never consent. 

Annie. I don't know that: If Archy should succeed in re- 
storing his hearing, that would be the time to mention the sub 



J 



MILKY WHITE. 23 

ject, and, as I told you, Archy will have about four thousand 
pounds, when a certain old gentleman dies, he bought what they 
call a rev^ersion. 

Enter WHiTE/r^w door, L. 2. E., turning over the leaves of a 
pamphlet — goes back to window. 

White, {as he goes tip) Now, to see what the Act of Parlia- 
ment says about oyster-shells, {sits in artn chair by the win- 
dow, his back being towards Annie and DiCK) 

Dick, {writing on the slate) " Three pints of skim at Slopers." 
Well, go on, Annie ; tell me all about it. Old Milky can't hear 
us, that's one comfort. 

White, {aside — wheeling the chair round) Oh, can't he ! 
What's going on .'' 

Dick. You think as there's nothing to baulk the marriage ? 

Annie. No, for we love each other dearly. 

"White, {aside) What ? what ? — she loves him ! {pointing to 
Dick) 

Dick, {as he writes) How much money do you say you'll 
have, when the old fellow dies ? 

Annie. Four thousand pounds ; — think of that, Dick. 

White, {aside, aghast) Ah ! 

Dick. Did young doctor Smith tell you that ? 

Annie. Yes ; not long ago, and he says the old man can't live 
long. 

White, (aside — dropping the pamphlet) The traitor ! 

Dick. Then it amounts to this, you wish the old codger was 
dead ? 

Annie. Well, people say it will be a good job when he's gone 
for he's a wicked old fellow, and does nothing but mischief. It's 
wrong to wish for anybody's death, but you can't e.xpect me to 
have any love for the old man, can you ? 

White, {gasps) Oh ! {sinks back in his chair) 

Annie, {holding up the bonnet) D'ye see what effect that's 
had ? Now, I'll go to the glass and put it on, and I'll try on my 
new mantle with it. {Runs o^at door, L.i E. 

Dick, {writing) "Ducks eggs" 

(White, livid with passiojt, rushes forward and seizes 
Dick by the throat) 

Dick, {choking) Mur-der ! 

White, {swinging him round to C, back) Wretch! Villainous 
wretch ! leave my house — my door, never — never enter again, 
or as sure as this hand can grasp a poker, I'll brain you ! — out ! 
out ! {thrusts DiCK out at door, R. 3 E.) Here, here I your hire — 
your wages — take it, serpent ! {flings money out at door; as he 
does so.) 



24 MILKY WHITE. 

Enter Archibald, door r. 3 e. 

Arch, {advancitig a step or two from the door) Hey-day ; 
here's a rumpus — what's wrong now ? Who's a serpent ? 

White, {up, c.) You, base betrayer, you ! — Never dare to 
enter my house again, you double-faced hypocrite ; you have 
betrayed me — my daughter — you it was who poured the poison 
into her ear. 

Arch, {aside) Has she then ah^eady disclosed our hopes ? 

"White. You can't deny it — out of my house ! 

Arch. Undoubtedly, sir, since you addressed me thus. I con- 
fess that I was unable to refrain from disclosing to your daugh- 
ter 

White. Paltry babbler — out of my house ! 

Arch. At least I have done you no injury — you owe your 
hearing to me. 

White. A curse ! Would that I had remained in my happy 
deafness — out of my house ! 

Arch. Madman, adieu forever ! 
Exit at door R. 3 E. — WHITE rushes up to the door, R. and 
is about to fasten it. 

Enter Annie, l. 2 e. with bon}iet and mantle on. 

Annie. (L. C, without looking towards White) Dear father, 
what are you in such a passion about ? How do you like me in 
my new bonnet and mantle ? {arranging dress.) 

White, {rushing down to her, L. C.) Snake ! ask the gaping 
world how it likes them ; go out now and ask it ; shov/ it a 
monster ! a girl monster ! out of my house forever ! 

Annie, (falling on her knees) Dear father 

White. Go, or I'll curse you — you, whom I doted on — you, the 
only living creature I ever loved, whom I lived for, and would 
have died for (Annie makes a gesture of deprecation) Unnatural 
child ! no words ; marry, starve, die — anything ! I know you 
no more ! 

Annie. What have I done, dear father ? 

"White. What have you done ? False girl ; deceitful beyond • 
your years — never let me see you — hear of you again ! 

Annie. Is this because you have learned we love each other ? 
I couldn't help it, father- 

White. Love him ! — a blight on your love 

Annie. Father, in pity — are '<j^w mad ? 

White. Your work — I am ! Must 1 force you out? {dragging 
her up the stage, towards R.) Go to him, go to him ! wait my 
death ; gloat over the thought, and see what you'll get. Out of 
my house forever ! {thrusts her oiit at door, R. U. E., and bolts 
the door — Music, pianissimo, ( " Early Love," ) to the end of Act 



MILKY WHITE, 25 

— White rushes to the table, supporting himself by a chair, 
and looking round at his desolate apartment till his eye rests on 
the piano; suddenly he bursts into a flood of tears) Hated by all 
the world — I am alone — alone now ! (frantically throwing him- 
self into the chair and dashing his head on the table. 

END OF FIRST ACT. 



ACT 11. 



Scene. — White's Bedroom. An old-fashioned Apartment, but 
neat and clean. An old easy chair in front, L., over the back 
and arm of which hang White's coat, waistcoat, and necktie. 

The curtaiii rises to the air of " Early Love " played piano, 
and through the music, a church clock is heard to strike five. 
At the end of the strain, V^HVllL, who is in the bed, draws 
aside the curtain next the audience, attd looks out. 

White. That must be five o'clock p. m., and I've had nothing 
to eat since yesterday. I wonder how long I shall last at that 
little game ? It's very lonely here — not a sound stirring ; confound 
those varmints of mice — what a row they're kicking up ! Not 
that I want anybody ; I hate the world, [a knocking as at a 
door below, is heard) Ah, knock away ! you can't come in till 
I'm gone aloft. After all, it's a delicious feeling to think one can 
go out of the world without causing any one to snivel — not even 

one's {glancing up at the picture of Annie) That picture 

haunts me ; I can't look at it, and I can't help looking at it — I 
can't sleep for it — I can't ^^V for it ! I'll turn it to the wall, I will. 
(White who has on his breeches and boots, gets up, and stands 
on the bed to turn the picture) This is not a comfortable way of 
going to bed ; but a heart-broken man has no energy to pull off 
his boots. There, I'm not going to be haunted by you any more. 
{turns the portrait face to wall and descends, sitting on the bed) 
Poor thing ! I wonder where she went to, all night ? {g(Tes to box, 
L. of bed, opens it, attd snatches out a paper) Here it is, here's 
the policy of insurance ; {rolling forward, c.) here's the magician 

that tempted my only child to wish me dead, to {as he is about 

to tear it, an old letter drops out) What's this .-* {picks letter up) 
Oh, I remember — this is a letter I received five and twenty years 
ago, giving me an account of my partner — Alick Good's death. 
{opens letter and reads it) " My friend (iood, has drowned 
himself; his last words were, that should you have a child, that 



26 MILKY WHITE. 

child would be the instrument for punishing your crime." The 
curse is fulfilled — five and twenty year after it was pronounced I 
am punished ; I'll get into bed again, {throws papers into the 
box, and Jumps into bed) That's the most comfortable place to 
enjoy remorse, and a broken heart, {a tap is heard at the room 
door) Hark, there's a rat now ! {throws a slipper, L., and lies 
down, covering his head with the bed clothes) 

Enter Mrs. Saddrip at door in flat, R. C, with a basket in 
her hand, and goes to table, R.; her back is to White, who 
hearing a sound, starts up, looks around, and suddenly sees 
her. 

Who's that ? {she turiis round) Mrs. Saddrip ! how dare you 
come into my bedroom ? {drawing the sheet tightly round him) 
You once prophesied I should hang myself, didn't you ? You're 
a witch, a witch ! in the good old times you'd have been horse- 
ponded ! {turning from her) I've read the History of England ; 
they'd have made it hot for you in Queen Mary's time, {turjis 
and sees Mrs. Saddrip sitting by his bedside — he suddenly 
drops and draws the clothes over his head) 

Mrs. S. {sitting, L. c, at back) I've no reason to have any 
regard for you, that's certain ; but in a civilized country one 
can't let a fellow creature die for want of a little help. I'm glad 
to find you've recovered your hearing. 

"White. Are you ? I'm not ! How did you get in ? 

Mrs. S. I got over the rails, and came in the back way. 

White, {sitting up in bed) Oh, did you t I'll prosecute you 
for a trespass. 

Mrs. S. Do, if you like. Your shutters have been up all day, 
and I feared something was wrong with you. {rising and going 
to table) I've brought you some breakfast. 

"WTiite. I don't want it ! I won't have it — It's pisoned. 

Mrs. S. {fetchiftg little table from L.) You're a foolish man ; 
but you must live to be wiser and better — I'll put this little table 
by your bedside ; there, {places it) Now your food on it, and 
you can reach comfortably. 

White. I don't want to reach comfortably ; take it away ! 

Mrs. S. {taking things out of her basket, and placing them, 
on table, having first spread a napkin) There's a cup and 
saucer. 

White. Take 'em away ! 

Mrs. S. Bread and butter. 

White. Take it away ! 

Mrs. S. An ^^g. 

White, {pushing it away) Don't lay your eggs here ! 

Mrs, S. And there's one of my boys outside with some hot 
coffee, {goes to door in flat, where a coffee pot is handed in to 



MILKY WHITE. 27 

her, which she takes, and returning to L., side of little table, 
pours out coffee) It's all ready, milk*ed and sweetened. 

White. 1 don't want to be sweetened ! Well, of all the im- 
pudence — {solemnly) Mrs. Saddrip, do you think me such a 
wretch, that I can eat anything, while, for what I know, my child 
is starving 7 Don't you know I turned her out of my house .^ 

Mrs. 9. I do indeed. 

White. Do — do you know anything of her ? 

Mrs. S. I shall not tell you, till you have taken this cup of 
coffee, {forces it on him) 

"White. 1 wont touch it ! {drinks it) Now tell me. 

Mrs. S. Eat this first, {offering bread and butter) 

White, {jumping out of bed) Woman ! What of my child ? 

Mrs. S. {running to R.) Bless the man ; he's gone to bed 
with his boots on ! 

White. (L. c.) Never mind my boots ; — my child — tell me of 
her! 

Mrs. S. /have taken care she should be sheltered. 

White, {grasping her hand) Bless you for it ! Bless you ! 
bless you ! 

Mrs. S. But the poor girl is heart-broken. 

White. Heart-broken ? — I am glad of it ! — so am I ! 

Mrs. S. You must let her come back. 

White. Never ! never ! never ! — till I am gone aloft ; — she 
shall not want, Mrs. Saddrip, but I couldn't look on her again. 
{bursts into tears) Oh, Mrs. Saddrip, I'm a wretched man. 

Mrs. S. I know you are. {going tip and returning with plate 
to R. c.) Take some bread and butter. 

White. I shan't ! Oh yes, I know what you are ; you think 
you're getting over me by this tomfoolery, but my executors 
shall carrv my cowshed through your premises for all that. 
(goes up towards the bed) 

Mrs. S. (R. C.) And turn me out of my house ; well, I'm not 
as some poor wretches are — without a friend in the world to 
give me a good word. 

White, {turning round to her) Ah, that's what I call a nasty 
slur ; don't look at me in that insinuating way, Mrs. .Saddrip ; I 
know you hate me. {throws himself into an arm-chair which 
stands L.) 

Mrs. S. I don't hate anybody ; nor fear anybody, if it comes 
to that. 

White, {languidly) You needn't fear me ; I'm not long for 
this world ; I shall soon go aloft, like poor Thomas Bowling. 

Mrs. S. You ! — you'll never go aloft, if you behave so cruelly 
to your daughter who loves you. 

White. She — love me ? She hates me ! Don't contradict me 
— I'm " a wicked old fellow, and do nothing but mischief." 



28 MILKY WHITE. 

Mrs. S. I'm not going to corttfadict you. 

White, {rising) She said that 1 - - {aside) No, no, poof girl ; 
it's not for me to expose her. {going up to R, of little table) But 
Mrs. S.,will you do me a favor? 

Mrs. S. {y. of table, handing plate) If you'll eat some bread 
and butter ; not without. 

White, {seizing a slice of bread and butter, and eating) 
There ; you think you're saving my life by this, don't you ? {sits 
and places his hand on his heart) My disease is here ; bread 
and butter won't cure that ! 

Mrs. S. Now what's this favor ? 

White. You'll have no reason to regret my asking it. Do you 
know the stationer's at the corner — to the right — number nine- 
teen, you know ? Go there and get me a form of a will ; it will 
be a shilling — here's the money. 

Mrs. S. I've brought one of my lads with me ; he's outside, 
and will go on that, or any other errand. I shall leave him with 
you. ( crossing to door in flat, R.) 

White. I'd rather be alone ; — lads, indeed ; — I don't want to 
be buoyed up in that way. 

Mrs. S. Oh, but you must have somebody here, to let us know 
when you've gone aloft ! Exit, door in flat. 

White, {hastily putting down the cup which he had raised 
to his lips) That's true. Now that woman has a kind heart ; 
she's not a bad sort ; I thought she was, and I've behaved like a 
brute to her ; I'll make it up to her {rises and cotnes forward C.) 
in a way she little expects. 

Re-enter Mrs. Saddrip, at door in flat, R. 

Mrs. S. {going to chair, L.) Here, put your things on : you'll 
get the lumbago, standing about in your shirt sleeves. 

WTiite. What's the lumbago to a man m my decomposed 
state .'' 

Mrs. S. Stuff! put on your waistcoat, {takes it from chair, 
L., and forces it on him) Now, where 's your cravat .-* 

White. I can die very comfortably without a cravat. 

Mrs. S. {coming round to V^.C) Here it is ; hold up your head. 

White, (c.) Ah, I shall never hold up my head again — never ! 
Mrs. Saddrip //^r^i- her hand under his chin, and raises his 
head ; and begins tying ott his cravat) Milky White has done 
with pumps and vanities, {his eyes rest on her as she is tying a 
bow) Mrs. S., you've been a creamy sort of woman in your time, 
had a good many followers, I dare say ? (Mrs. Saddrip^i?/'^' his 
coat and helps him on with it, standifig behijtd him — WHITE, 
c.) By the bye, talking about followers, I should like you to 
follow me to — what's the name of the place — that celebrated 
Green ? 



MILKY WHITE. 29 

Mrs. Sadd. {putting her head over his right shoulder) GxQina. 
Green ? 

White. Gretna devil ! (Mrs. Saddrip^<7^j to dressing table, 
R., for comb and brush, having first placed a chair, c, on 
which White sits) Ken — Kensal Green Cemetery ; in fact 
you're the only one that I know of who would do it. 

Mrs S. (R. c.) Your daughter. 

White, (^jumping tip, excitedly) Woman ! if you name her 
again, I won't answer for the consequences. (Mrs. Saddrip 
places her hands on his shoulders and gently forces him back 
into the chair) Why do you torture me with ? [as he at- 
tempts to rise, she repeats the action) Why do {he subsides 

as she soothes him and standing behind, begins combing his 
hair) What are you doing, — combing my hair ? Stop a minute, 
Mrs. S., I have it parted on the left side. — I couldn't die comfort- 
ably without a proper parting, [as Mrs. Saddrip comes to R. 
c.) Mrs. Saddrip, 1 declare to goodness, I always thought you 
was carrolty ; why you're a— — 

Mrs. S. {brushing his hair) Ha' done ! 

WTiite. W'ell, it would be a dun in a cow ; it's auburn in a 
woman. 

Mrs. S. {behind him) How you are going on. 

White. Going on ? I shall be going off soon — Oh, Mrs. S., 
don't do that ; don't part my hair behind ! I look upon that as 
puppyish. 

Mrs. S. Goodness ! how bald you're getting at the back. 

Wliite. That's right — go it ! I knew you'd have something 
spiteful to say as soon as my back was turned— now, you shan't 
do it at ail ; go away, {rises and goes to the seat in front of the 
bed and R. of the little table j his back towards R.) 

Mrs. S. I can hear the boy at the door. Come in, William. 
(Mrs. Saddrip goes to the door in F., opens it and Annie ap- 
pears with a paper in her hands) 

Mrs. S. {aside to Annie) You here ! You should not have 
come yet. 

Annie, {aside to MRS. Saddrip) I must— I must speak to him. 
{she sinks into the chair, which is at the head of the bed, and 
buries her face in her hands) 

White, {sitting with his back towards them) What's all that 
scuffling about ? If you've anything to say, why don't you say it 
out ? Is that the boy ? 

Mrs. S. Yes ; he'll go downstairs, and wait there to see if 
you want anything, {to Annie coaxingly) Won't you dear ? 
(Annie signifies by action that she shall remain) 

White. I hope that's not the atrocious young rascal as used 
to chevy in my yard and ya-hoo me ? Now tnen, where 's the 
will paper ? 



30 MILKY WHITE. 

Mrs. S. (R. C, back — taking the paper from Annie atid 
giving it to White) Here it is. 

White, {looking at it) " Where the property is left to a 
stranger in bloocf," that's all right, {opening it out on table) 
You'll find pen and ink on the mantel-piece. (MRS. Saddrip 
crosses to i.. and brings t/i em to him j White waves his hand 
for her to remove the other things ; she fetches her basket and 
places the articles in it) Take away this fodder ; I loathe the 
sight of food. (Mrs. Saddrip is removitig his bread aftd butter) 
Here, stop ! I'll finish my bread and butter, {takes it from her 
and eats) Now then — in the first place, what's the day of the 
month ? 

Mrs. S. {standing l.. of table) The seventh of October. 

"White, {writing) And what is your Christian name .'' 

Mrs. S. Martha, {aside) What does he want with my name ? 

White. Martha Saddrip, you're what we call in the law — a 
relick, ar'n't you ? 

Mrs. S. A relish ? 

"White. A relish — pooh! I didn't say "relish." You're a 
widow, ain't you ? 

Mrs. S. That's m_y business ! {crosses to R.) 

"White, {writing) All right ; don't be crusty. Now look here, 
this must be detested by a witness, and then I'll sign it. {par- 
tially turning towards her) Mrs. Saddrip, I've left you a policy 
of insurance for four thousand pound, for you have shown kind- 
ness to a poor deserted old fellow, whose only child — w'ishes him 
out of the world, {wipes his eyes and turns towards the table) 

Annie, {at back, scarcely able to restrain her feelings) 
Fa ■ 

Mrs S. {up, R, C, aside to her) Hush ! {to White) Soh, 
this is for me, is it ? {takes up the will paper and crosses to L.) 
Then of course I can do what I like with it, and this is what it 
deserves, {tears it up and throws the pieces into the fireplace, 
L. 2 E.) I had hope that you were a better man — that your heart 
was turning ; go aloft indeed ! it's my opinion that a man who 
forgets his own flesh and blood and carries vindictiveness into 
the grave is a good way on the road in another direction, {point- 
ing downwards) 

"White, {loudly blowing his nose, and settling himself in his 
chair) Mrs. Saddrip, you found me in a very low state 

Mrs. S. You'll go lower still if 

"White. {Jumping up) Silence, woman ! You've had your 
turn, haven't you ? — well then, let me have mine, {sits) I have 
no vindictiveness to my child — tell her so. {emphaticcilly) Tell 
her so ! Tell her, that with all her cruel thoughts of me I love 
her, still ; but my money would now carry ill luck to her, and 
degraded as she is by her choice 



MILKY WHITE. 31 

Mrs. S. Of a lover you mean to say ? Excuse me, but I con- 
sider him a very superior young man, and anybody but you 
would feel proud of the connection. 

White. Mrs. Saddrip, I should be sorry to call you a fool ; 
but, good gracious, when you tell me to my face that 1 ought to 
feel proud of a fellow with no more brains than one of my own 
cows 

Mrs. S. I wish you had as much ; but there, I'm not going to 
quarrel with you again, {crosses to R.) I'll find some one to 
look after your cows ; the poor things haven't been milked to- 
day. 

White. Going to leave me all alone ? 

Mrs. S. {behind White, placing her hand coaxingly on his 
shoulder) May I bring her ? 

White, {turnitig suddenly) Would you torture me ? No, tell 
her all here {placing his hand on his breast) is grief, not anger 
no7u ; but don't ask me to see her — oh no ! no ! [turns, and 
buries his face in his hands — leaning on table) 

Mrs. S. Well, reflect for a few minutes ; here's some one 
within call if you think better of it. {as she passes out at door, 
iL>it]i her basket, she endeavors to lead ANNIE away, who 
resists and rernains in the same position at the head of the bed) 

White, {calling after her) Don't be long, Martha ! {to him- 
self ) It fills one with dissolving emotions to find there is some 
one in the world who does care a little for Milky W'hite — ^just a 
little — just a little — {suddenly recollectijig and leaning back) 
Boy, are you there .'' 

Annie. I'm here, sir ! 

White. You're not the boy as threw a dead rat into my water 
butt, are you ? 

Annie, {at back) Oh, no, sir. 

White. Lucky for you. I say, what do the boys say of me in 
the neighborhood ; they all hate Milky White, don't they .^ I 
don't wonder if they do ; I made myself a bugbear to everybody 
— I was wicked enough to love only one — and she — even my 
daughter, hated, — despised me ! 

Annie. Oh, no ! no ! {sobs) 

White. W^hy, what are you blubbering about ? What a soft- 
hearted, soft-headed boy you must be ; I've more reason to cry 
than you have, and I'm as dry as a bone, {wiping his eyes) 

Annie. Your daughter always loved — does love you ! 

White. Oh no, no, no ! My eyes showed me a glittering coin; 
at last, I heard it sounded — 'twas base ! 'twas base ! 

Annio. Don't — don't say that ! 

■White. That voice ! (White r/.y^'j and turns to7c> a rds Assi IE) 
Ah, she, she ! Mercy on me ; my Annie, {throws himself into 
chair, as ANNIE advances, and falls at his feet, R. c) 



32 



MILKY WHITE. 



Annie. Father ! Don't turn me from you again, {takes his 
hand, which White snatches from her) 

White, {turning his face from Annie, and waving her away 
with his right hand) Go, go, go ! 

Annie, {earnestly, and with difficulty suppressing her sobs) ' 
If I have hurt you by unwisely accepting the affection of another, 
I renounce it ! Do you think I have forgotten all your tender- 
ness to me .'' Don't accuse me of not loving you, father ; for 
years I have never laid my head on my pillow without a prayer 
for you. 

White. A blight on the man who gave me back my hearing ! 

Annie, {sadly) He will never come again. Don't father — 
don't be harsher with me than I can bear ; these words are so 
new to me ; they kill me ! {falls with her head on his knee) 

White, {looking rotmd o?t her— aside) After all, how could I 
expect a child to love one so hated as I have been, {to her — ■ 
gently) Annie ! Annie ! — my — my child, come here, {rises and 
leads her forward c.) Tell me — do you think you could learn to 
love me — even now, if I tried to live to do good, if I 

Annie. (R. C) I couldn't love you more than I have done, 
father. 

White. Ah, don't say that, don't say that ! After being dead 
to sound for nine weary years, I could have taken back my 
afflictions, with gratitude, if the first thing I heard had also been 
the last — your song ! {in a burst of feeling) If I could only have 
a dream of the joy I felt at hearing those words! (/^ ANNIE) 
Sing it again, my girl ; if anything could make me forget your — 
cruel confession — it's that ! 

Annie. I will sing it, father, though I could rather cry, at 
hearing you ask it so sadly. 

{WniT^ turns from her, and as she sings displays great 
emotion — a^id gradually turns his face towards her) 

Annie. Whom did I love as time flew on, 
And she was lost — forever gone ? 
Whose doting lip was ever near, 
To kiss away my orphan tear ? 
Whose fond affection taught me then, 
With ardor fresh to love again ? 
No stranger lur'd my heart ; but rather 
I clung alone to thee — my 

(Annie unable to proceed, bursts into tears jW\l\T^ snatches 
her to his heart, tenderly embracing her) 

White. Annie — my child — if I had heard no more than 

that 

Annie. I don't understand you 



MILKY WHITE. ij, 

White. You shall have all when I am gone, my girl, you 

shall ! but don't say you wish me dead ! 
Annie. Oh, father ! 

White. Where did you stay last night ? 

Annie. Next door ; Mrs. Saddrip was as kind to me as a 
mother could have been. 

White. Mrs. Saddriji ! she's a woman, in the most embracing 
sense of the word. lean hear her coming — go just now; but 
come back ; be a good girl, and I'll try to forget what I heard — 
I will — I will. 

Goes up, C; Annie goes towards the door, then tur?is, 
rushes info White's arms, kisses him affectionately, and 
exit, door in fiat. 

Enter Mrs. Saddrip, door in flat. 

Mrs. S. {at door, shaking her finger at White, who stands 
L. c.) What, have you been ill-using that poor, motherless girl 
again ? 

White, {shaking his finger at MRS. Saddrip) Mrs. Saddrip ; 
you're an artful, good-hearted, meddling woman, that's what 
you are. (goes forward., L. c, Mrs. Saddrip, r. c.) Make 
your mind pertectly easy ; she shall be my child again, and I'll 
try to do a little good before I go aloft. 

Mrs. S. (R. c.} Ah ! then you may stand a chance of an up- 
ward movement. 

White. Mrs. Saddrip, you once went so far as to say my wife 
never loved me, — you were right. I made her believe that her 
lover — my partner, had deserted her. She married me out of 
revenge to him. 

Mrs. S. You shocking man ! 

White. Ain't I 'i — an out-and-outer. The poor weak-minded 
fellow, Alick Good, went and destroyed himself in a fit of trum- 
pery insanity. 

Mrs. S. And all through you ? 

White. That's a comfortable thing to have on one's con- 
science to go aloft with, isn't it ? 

Mrs. S. Oh, you men — you men— you're all a bad lot ! 

White. I thought the same of women once ; but Mrs. S., I 
now look \i\ion you as an angel. 

Mrs. S. A middle-aged one. 

White. You must help me to do the right thing. 

Mrs. S. Your daughter 

White. She'll have some other object— perhaps any quantity 
of little objects to attend to — she'll marry. 

Mrs. S. Perhaps not. 

White. Oh, yes, she must — she must ; I never denied her a toy 
in my life. If she has fixed her mind upon a husband, she siiall 



34 MILKY WHITE. 

have it ; though I wish — yes, I do wish she had had better taste. 

{going lip) You must take pity on a poor deserted fellow 

"Mrs. S. (R. c.) What, when you mean to have me turned out 
of my house — perhaps to ruin me ? 

White. Nothing further from my thoughts ; in fact, if you'd 
given me time, I might have finished a lono- conversation by 
making a honorable proposal ; the idea had just struck me that 
I might carry out my good designs and my cowshed at the same 
time, {hands a chair to MRS. Saddrip, who sits, R. c.) My 
bump of benevolence is springing up like a toad-stool — I mean, 
a mushroom ; don't you be the one to trample on it. {sits beside 
her. L. C.) 

Mrs. S. Oh, Mr. White 

White. Take me in hand ; I'll be a father to your boys, even 
to the atrocious young rascal who ya-hoo'd me. I'll love every- 
body. 

Mrs. S. Mr. White, you force me to disclose a sad secret — I 
am )iot a widow ! 

White. Not a widow .-' (rising, and drawing his chair away 
from her) In the name of all that's respectable, what are you 
then t 

Mrs. S. A wife. 

White, {dropping iftto his chair) Milky White's knocked over 
again. Who is your good man .'' 

Mrs. S. A bad man — very much older than myself, who deserted 
me just before the birth of my second boy 

White. The ya-hoo ? 

Mrs. S. And though he has the means, he has never done 
anything to assist me, and I had too much pride ever to compel 
it. 

White, [aside) And I have persecuted this poor creature, (to 
her) Mrs. S., all I can say is, the sooner your brute of a husband 
goes aloft the better ; perhaps you'll come in for something then. 

Mrs. S. No, his property goes to a younger brother, a spend- 
thrift, who has, I hear, already sold his expectations. 

White. Ahi, you've shown me that crushing troubles may be 
borne with a countenance all serene : and I'll try and make the 
best of mine if you'll find that boy Dick, and send him to me. 

Mrs. S. [rising and going to door in flat) He's in the yard, 
milking the cows ; I persuaded him to do that for you, and really 
he's not a bad-hearted lad. 

White, {still seated, L. c.) Well, that's about all one can say 
for him. (exit Mrs. Saddrip, door in flat) Poor soul ! poor soul ! 
Why can't people exercise the organ of benevolence ? look at me I 
see what good /do — I mean, what good I mean to do ; my darling 
will not wish me dead then, {a tap is heard at door in flat) 
Come in, whoever you are. 



MILKY WHITE. 35 

T7te door opens and DiCK appears, timidly putting his head in. 

White, {aside) Well, however she could hang her affections 
on a peg like that, gets over me. (rises) However, it's done ! 
what's done can't be undone ! (aloud to DiCK, and approaching 
him) Come in my — my — fine fellow I ^DlCK hesitates) Don't be 
frightened — be a man. (C. at back) I oehaved rather roughly to 
you yesterday. 

Dick, [looking at his throat in looking-glass on table, R.) 
You only strangled me ; I'm black and b4ue. 

White. You do look blue. Well, my lad, I'm sorry for it. 

Dick, (aside R., astonished) Laws ! he can hear ! 

White. Now that's the first time you ever heard Milky White 
say such a thing as that, isn't it ? 

Dick. The most onnatural thing from you as I ever did hear. 

White, (placing a chair, R. C.) Sit down here beside me. 

Dick, (receding up, R.) Now look'ee, master — none o' your 
tricks. I know your game, if I set down there, you'll jump up 
and burke me. 

White. No, Dick, I'm changed ; my bump has come out 
within the last hour. 

Dick. What bump ? 

White, (petulantly) Sit down ! The bump ot benevolence. 

Dick, (aside R.) " Sit down on my bump of benevolence!" 
— he's cracked, (draws the chair away from WHITE, w/tt? has 
seated himself c, and timidly sits on the edge.) 

White, (aside) Did any one ever see such an ill-bred calf? 
(aloud to Dick) Look here, if you sit on a chair like that, you'll 
cut yourself, {draws nearer to DiCK, who exhibits apprehen- 
sion) You proposed yesterday that I should give you a third of 
the business. 

Dick. Yes, and you guv me a kick instead. 

White, (rising) You shall have it now. 

Dick, (rising and retreating to K.— alarmed) What, a kick ? 

White. No, no, a third of the bus — don't look such an ass, 
there's a good fellow ! — a third of the business ; do your best in 
it ; it will all be yours, when I am gone aloft, {reseats himself, 
c.) 

Dick. Are you chaffing me, governor ? {sits again, R. c.) 

White. No ; I mean it. I only ask you one thing ; don't — 
don't teach my child to think I live too long. 

Dick, {aside) I think he's got the delirium tremendous. 

White. And be you kind to her ; she has risked everything 
for you. 

Dick. Have she though ? What have she risked ? ; 

White. No matter ; you had told my child that you loved her, 
had you not ? (DiCK scratches his head) Don't scratch your 
head, but answer " yes " or " no." 



36 MILKY WHITE. 

Dick. Yes, I sartinly did wunst ; but she's guvven me 
turnups. 

"White. So she told me ; but I see she can't be happy with 
anybody else, she shall be— — {as White is about to place his 
hand on DiCK'S shoulder, DiCK again retreats into R. corner 
— White turns from him with ineffable disgust — aside) Upon 
my soul, this fellow makes me quite sick ! {to him, with an 
effort) She shall be yours, {aside) My bump of benevolence must 
be swelling up like a young balloon, {going up, c.) 

Dick. (R.) Good gracious ! you've took away my breath. 

"White. Yes, but don't look such an ass. 

Dick. Well, but stop — afore we go any further — {following 
White «/ C.) how about her tale of the four thousand pound, 
and 

"White, {turning upon him furiottsly) Selfish idiot ! (DiCK 
runs back to R.) Say no more about that if you're wise — you 
fool ! Don't you see I wish to be benevolent if I can ? 

Dick, {aside, R.) Oh, I see ; she only told me the tale about 
the doctor chap to teaze me — she's like all the gals, {to White) 
Guv'nor, you've guv me a bolster up, and no mistake : half an 
hour ago I was kicking the cows out of vexation ; now I could 
kiss 'em all round out of delightfulness. Bless her pretty eyes — ■ 
won't I just love her — and you, too, father-in-law ! {crossing, L. 
to White, who retreats to R., back) 

"White, {at back) Father-in-law ! {aside) Ugh ! that's a dose. 

Enter Annie, d. in flat {710 1 seeing 'White) . 

Annie, {coming down, R. c.) Ah, Dick, I'm glad indeed to see 
you here ; are you friends with my father ? 

Dick. (L. c.) Friends ! we're going to be blood relations by 
marriage. Oh, you pussy cat ! haven't you been a playing with 
my feelings ! 

"White, {coming between theni, c.) Silence'! let me speak. 
Annie, my girl, I'll give you the hardest proof that any one could 
have asked of me, that my love can deny you nothing. Kiss me 
first. 

Annie, {kisses him) Do I not know that ? 

"White, {to Annie — and pointing to Dick) There — take it ! 
take it ! No matter what 1 could have wished — take it ! 

Annie. (R. C.) What do you mean, father? 

Dick. (L.) He means what he says ; I thought at fust he 
didn't — but he do. Come on ! {extending his arms) 

"White. (C.) It^I mean that boy, windmill — or whatever it 
is — shall be your husband. 

Annie. On, father ! 

Dick. Come on ; it's all right. 

Annie. You don't mean to force me to such a union ? 



MILKY WHITE. yj 

White. Force you ! ((^///^'r/j') You have forced ;;/<?, child. 

Dick. My par tetter hex t, s&^'xng as we love each other, con- 
sents to the match like a brick : come on ! 

White, {watching Annie's countenance) Do you not love 
him .<* 

Annie. Oh, no ! no ! no ! 

White, (clasping his hands in rapture) Thank mercy ! 
thank mercy ! (to DiCK) Stand out of the way ! {pushes DiCK 
roughly—DlCY^ falls into arm chair, L.) Is it true ? {goes up c, 
embracing Annie) 

Dick. What are you going on like that for ? What d'ye both 
mean 1 {crying) What are you making a April fool of a poor lad 
for ? I never ^idyou no harm, (goes up to the bed and sits on 
it, blubbering) 

Enter MRS. Saddrip, door in flat. 

Mrs S. {up, c.) Neighbor White, here's 

White. Stop ! stop ! that fellow's making a pocket-handker- 
chief of my counterpane, (crosses to DiCK) Get up ! Dick 
moves, and sits on the box at the foot of the bed — to Mrs. S.^vd- 
DRIP) I beg your pardon ; go on. 

Mrs. S. Here's a young gentleman outside the door wishes to 
be reconciled to you again ; I have promised to speak for him. 

White. (L, c.) She cow-doctor .? Trot him in ! let him look at 
my bump of benevolence to-day, 

Mrs. Saddrip beckons Archibald, who enters at door in flat 
and comes down, R. c. 

"White, (c.) Well, young Smith, and what have you to say ? 

Arch. (R. C.) This, sir, that notwithstanding your severe 
treatment of me, because I entertained an affection for your 
daughter 

White, {astonished) You entertained an affection ! What are 
you talking about ? 

Arch. Inasmuch as you are her father, I will relieve your 
mind of a weight, which it has borne long enough. My name is 
not Srrtith but Good. 

White. Good 

Annie, (l.) Gracious ! 

Arch. The son of your former partner, who you thought had 
destroyed himself ; the fact is, he has been dead only two 
years. 

WTiite. Boy, boy ! you're lifting me from a mattress of thorns 
to a feather bed ; swear it's true ! 

Arch. I do. 

White. And you love my child. 

Arch. Tenderly. 



38 MILKY WHITE. 

White. And she returns it ? 
Arch. Ask her. 

Dick, {at back) Oh, she'll say anything. 

White, {who has crossed to R. C, turns to DiCK) Lie down ! 
(/() Annie, taking her hand, and pointing to Archibald, who 
is C.) Annie, my girl, is this the man you loved ! 

Annie. (R.. casting her eyes down) Yes, dear father. 
Dick, (at back) Oh, shame ! shame ! 

Wliite. {flinging hair brush at DlCK) I'll shame you ! Get 
out ! 

Arch. You knew me to be poor, and that prevented me from 
making known to you my hopes, but I had told Annie that I held 
a reversion to four thousand poiinds on the death of an old fel- 
low ; I have just heard that he is dead, consequently I am no 
longer penniless. 

White. {171 a tone of deep rejuorse) Oh, Annie, my girl — my 
girl — can you forgive me ? 
Annie. Forgive you ? 

White. Ah, yes ; when that scientific young cow-doctor had 
given me back the blessing of hearing, I heard you say some- 
thing to Dick about your expectations of a bad man's death; of 
course I thought you meant your father — oh fool ! fool ! 
Dick, {at back) Oh, fool ! fool ! 

White, {to Dick) How dare you to call me a fool Ale a fool, 
you hass ! 

Arch. And you thought I'd divulged your assurance secret .'' 
oh, that accounts for my being turned out. 

Dick, {coming dowji, L. C.) Turned out, I was kicked out ! in 
a most undelicate way too. 

White. What unbelieving monster has been turning that 
picture ? {jumps oti the bed and re-turns picture, and points to 
Dick) You did that ; I saw you do it. (comes R. c. between 
Annie and Archibald) Take her ! I shall lose my child, but I 
shall get a son-in-law I'm proud of. {crosses to C, and goes up, 
pointing to Dick) I couldn't stomach //.' (White goes up to 
Mrs. Saddrip.) 

Dick. (L.) It ? What are you it-ting me for ? {aside) I suppose 
I'm to stick to a third of the business. 

Arch. (R. C, to Annie, r.) On we go to happiness ! Annie, 
you shall be the wife of a great ear-doctor ; I can afford to 
pursue my studies with the money I get by John Saddrip's death, 

and 

Mrs. S. {up, L. C.) Ah ! {appears to be fainting ; WHITE 
supports her.) 

White, {up, C.) My dear soul, what is the matter ? 
Mrs S. {coming down, i.. c.) John — John Saddrip ! 
White, (c, aside to her) Oh, I see — I see ! 



MILKY WHITE. ' 39 

Mrs. S. (fo Archibald) Was he living at Cricklewood ? 

"White. {Jiurriedly) Washecrickleivingwood ? 

Arch. (R. C.) Just so. 

White, {delighted, and aside to Mrs. Saddrip) It's all right ; 
the brute's gone aloft ! you are a widow — you arc a relish now. 
{to others) This lady knew the party as is departed, and accord- 
ing to all accounts he was a party who had not the bump of 
benevolence, eh, doctor ? 

Arch. And consequently was only an incumbrance on the 
earth, {goes up the stage with Annie.) 

White. Not like us, eh, Mrs. S. !— Widow S. ! Will you 
allow me to whisper, Widow S. ? (White whispers in her ear, 
Mrs. S.\DDRIP /;/ 1 eturn whispers something in White's ear, 
at which he exhibits delight— business repeated ad libitum) 
E.xactly — of course — delicacy ; yes, yes ; when a proper time has 
elapsed. I shall be the happiest, gayest-hearted dairyman alive. 
{to DiCK; who is sitting, the picture of despair, in the nrin- 
chair, L.) Oh ! {pointing at him) A sick monkey, {aloud to 
Dick) Holloa, boy ! don't look so glum ; you shall l)e my fore- 
man and cowkeeper extraordinary, {turns to Archibald) 
Here, cowdoctor ; just look at my organ of benevolence now ; 1 
mean to go the whole lump I can tell you. (Annie crosses to 
him, r. c.) I love my child as much as ever I did, for she's a dear 
good girl ; but {turning to MRS. Saddrip, who is L. C.) here's a 
dear good woman, who has taught me, that in passing through 
this subloonary milk-walk, we ought to have a kind word for all 
our fellow-creatures; let us be deaf only to the voice of selfish- 
ness — let us return good for evil — and a light heart will be our 
reward. Only to think what a grim black-hearted bogie /was. 
(Annie and Mrs. Saddrip approach hitn expostulating). Yes, 
I was Annie, — yes, I was, Martha ; but now with benevolence for 
my motto, my hope shall be to merit approbation when my 
character appears " Milky White." 

Archibald. Annie. White. Mrs. Saddrip. Dick. 

R. c. L. 

CURTAIN. 




40 



MILKY WHITE. 



EARLY LOVE. 



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UNCLE TOM'S CABIN (NEW VERSION.) 

A MELODRAMA /A' FIVE ACTS, BY CHAS. TOWNSEND. 
PRICE, 15 CENTS. 

Seven male, five female characters (some of the characters play two parts). 
Time of playing-, i'% hours. This is a new acting edition of a prime old favorite, 
so >impl>fied in the stage-setting as to be easily represented by dramatic clubs and 
travelling companies with limited scenery. Uncle Tom's Cabin is a play that never 
grows old ; being pure and faultless, it commands the praise of the pulpit and sup- 
port of the press, while it enlists the favor of all Christians and heads of families. It 
will draw hundreds where other plays draw dozens, and therefore is sure to fill any hal'. 

Synopsis of Incidents : Act I. — Scene /.—The Shelby plantation in Kentucky. — 
George and Eliza. — The curse of Slavery. — The resolve. — Off for Canada. — " I won't 
be taken — I'll die first." — Shelby and Haley. — Uncle Tom and Harry must be sold. — 
The poor mother. — "Sell my boy!" — The faithful slave. Scene II. — Gumption 
Cute. — " By Gum !" — Marks, the lawyer. — A mad Yankee.— George in disguise. — A 
friend in need. — The human bloodhounds. — The escape. — " Hooray fer old Var- 
mount ! " 

Act II.— St. Clare's elegant home.— The fretful wife.— The arrival.— Little Eva.— 
Aunt Ophelia and Topsy. — " O, Golly! I'se so wicked!" — St. Clare's opinion. — 
" Benighted innocence." — The stolen gloves. — Topsy in her glory. 

Act 111. — The angel child. — Tom and St. Clare. — Topsy's mischief. — Eva's re- 
quest. — The promise. — pathetic scene. — Death of Eva. — St. Clare's grief. — " For thou 
art gone forever." 

Act IV. — The lonely house. — Tom and St. Clare. — Topsy's keepsake. — Deacon 
Perry and Aunt Ophelia. — Cute on deck. — A distant relative. — The hungry visitor. — 
Chuck full of emptiness." — Cute and the Deacon. — A row. — A fight. — Topsy to the 
rescue. — St. Clare wounded. — Death of St. Clare. — " Eva — Eva — I am coming " 

Act V. — Legree's plantation on the Red River. — Home again. — Uncle Tom'.« 
noble heart. — "My soul ain't yours, Mas'r." — Legree'scruel work. — Legree and Cassy. 
—The whiteslave. — A frightened brute. — Legree's fear. — A life of sin. — Marks and 
Cute. — Anew scheme. — The dreadful whipping of Uncle Tom. — Legree punished at 
last. — Death of Uncle Tom. — Eva in Heaven. 



THE WOVEN WEB. 

A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS, BY CHAS. TOWNSEND. 
PRICE, 15 CENTS. 

Seven male, three female characters, viz. : leading and second juvenile men, so- 
ciety villain, walking gentleman, eccentric comedian, old man, low comedian, leading 
juvenile lady, soubretie and old woman. Time of playing, 2j^ hours. The Woven Wbb 
is a flawless drama, pure in thought and action, with excellent characters, and pre- 
senting no difficulties in costumes or scenery. The story is captivating, with a plot 
of the most intense and unflagging interest, rising to a natural climax of wonderful 
power. The wit is bright and sparkling, the action terse, sharp and rapid. In touch- 
ing (he great chord of human sympathy, the author has expended that rare skill 
which has given life to every great play known to the stage. This play has been 
produced under the author's management with marked success, and will prove 
an unquestionable attraction wherever presented. 

Synopsis of Incidents: Act I. — Parkhurst & M.inning"s law office. New York. 
— Tim's opinion. — The young lawyer. — " Majah Billy Toby, sah ! " — Love and law. 
— Bright prospects. — Bertha's misfortune. — A false friend. — The will destroyed. — A 
cunning plot. — Weaving the web.— The unseen witness. — The letter. — Accused. — 
Dishonored. 

Act II. — Winter quarters. — Colonel Hastings and Sergeant Tim. — Moses. — A 
me«sage. — Tim on his dignity. — The arrival. — Playing soldier. — The secret. — The 
promise. — Harry in danger. — Love and duty. — The promise kepi. — "Saved, at the 
loss of my own honor ! " 

Act III. — Drawing-room at Falconer's. — Reading the news. — "Apply to Judy ! " 
— Louise's romance. — Important news. — Beriha's fears. — Leamington s arrival. — 
Drawing the web. — Threatened. — Plotting. — Harry and Bertha. — A fiendish lie. — Face 
to face. — " Do you know him ? " — Denounced. — " Your life shall be the jienalty ! " — 
Startling tableau. 

Act IV. — At Uncle Toby's. — A wonderful climate. — An impudent rascal. — A bit 
of history.— Woman's wit. — Toby Indignant. — A quarrel. — Uncle Toby's evidence. — 
Leamington's last trump. — Good news. — Checkmated. — The telegram. — Breaking 
the web. — Sunshine at last. 

}^~ Copies mailed, postpaid, to any address, on receipt 0/ the annexed prices. ^Sl 



SAVED FROM THE WRECK. 

A DRAMA IN THREE ACTS, BY THOMAS K. SERRANO. 
PRICE, 15 CENTS. 

Eight male, three female characters : Leading comedy, juvenile man, genteel 
villain, rough villain, light comedy, escaped convict, deteciive, utility, juvenile 
lady, leading comedy lady and old woman. Two interior and one landscape scenes. 
Modern costumes. Time of playing, two hours and a half. The scene of the action 
is laid on the New Jersey coast. The plot is of absorbing interest, the "business" 
effective, and the ingenious contrasts of comic and serious situations present a con- 
tinuous series of surprises for the spectators, whose interest is increasingly maintained 
up to the final tableau. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. 

Act I. The Home of the Light-housb Keeper. — An autumn afternoon. — 
The insult. — True to herself. — A fearless heart. —The unwelcome guest. — Only a 
foundling. — An abuse of confidence. — The new partner. — The compact. — The dead 
brought to life. — Saved from the wreck. — Legal advice. — Married for money.— A 
colden chance. — The intercepted letter. — A vision of wealth. — The forgery. — Within 
..11 inch of his life. — The rescue. — Tableau. 

Act II. Scene as before ; time, night. — Dark clouds gathering.— Changing 
the jackets. — Father and son. — On duty. — A struggle for fortune. — Loved for himself. 
— The divided greenbacks. — The agreement.— An unhappy life. — The detective's mis- 
take. — Arrested. — Mistaken identity. — The likeness again. — On the right track — The 
accident. — "Will she be saved?" — Latour's bravery. — A noble sacrifice. — The secret 
meeting. — Another case of mistaken identity. — The murder. — " Who did it?" — The 
torn cuff. — "There stands the murderer!" — " 'Tis false!" — The wrong man mur- 
dered. — Who was the victim? — Tableau. 

Act III. Two Days Later. — Plot and counterplot. — Gentleman and convict. — 
The price of her life. — Some new documents. — The divided banknotes. — Sunshine 
through the clouds. — Prepared for a watery grave — Deadly peril, — Father and daugh- 
ter. — The rising tide. — A life for a signature. — True unto death. — Saved. — The mys- 
tery solved.— Denouement. —Tableau. 

BETWEEN TWO FIRES. 

A COMEDY-DRAMA IN THREE ACTS, BY THOMAS K. SERRANO. 
PRICE, 15 CENTS. 

Eight male, three female, and utility characters: Leading juvenile man, first and 
second walking gentleman, two light conn dians (lawyer and foreign adventurer), 
Dutch and Irish character comedians, villain, soldiers; leading juvenile lady, walk- 
ing lady and comedienne. Three interior scenes ; modern and military costumes. 
Time of playing, two hours and a half. Apart frcm unusual interest of plot and skill 
of construction, the play affords an opportunity of representing the progress of a 
real battle in the distance (though this is not necessary to the action). The comedy 
business is delicious, if well worked up, and a startling phase of the slavery question 
is sprung upon the audience in the last act. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. " 

Act I. At Fort Lee, on the Hudson. — News from the war. — The meeting. 
— The colonel's strange romance. — Departing for the war.— The intrusted packet. — An 
honest man. — A last request. — Bitter hatred. — The dawn of love. — A northerner's 
sympathy for the South. — Is he a traitor ? — Held in trust. — La Creole mine for sale. — 
Financial agents. — A brother's wrong. — An order to cross the enemy's lines. — For- 
tune's fool. — Love's penalty. — Man's independence. — Strange disclosures. — A sha- 
dowed life. — Beggared in pocket, and bankrupt in love. — His last chance. — The re- 
fusal. — Turned from home. — Alone, without a n.inie — Off to the war. — Tableau. 

Act II. On the Battlefield.— An Irishman's philosophy. — Unconscious of 
danger. — Spies in the camp. — The insult. — Risen from the ranks. — The colonel's prej- 
udice. — Letters from home. — The plot to ruin. — A token of lov<-. — True to him. — 
The plotters at work. — Breaking the seals. — The meeting of husband and wife. — A 
forlorn hope. — Doomed as a spy. — A struggle for lost honor. — A soldier's death. — 
Tableau. 

Act Ift. Before Richmond. — The home of Mrs. De Mori. — The two docu- 
ments. — A little misunderstanding. — A deserted wife. — The truth revealed. — Brought 
to light. — Mother and child. — Rowena's sacrifice. — The Am'erican Eagle spreads his 
wings. ^The spider's web. — True to himself. — The reconciliation. — A long divided 
home reunited. — The close of the war. — Tableau. 

^fSr Colics ma-iled., postpaid., to any address.^ on receipt <j/" the annexed prices. ^01 



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A c'>s:ii!;ie pantomime repiescntation of the Wejiiing Ceremony in Japanese high lite. 
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ih>; officiating personage appropriately called the '" (lo-between." 'J'here are 
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I'res'nts. No words are spoken. The ceremony (which occupies about 50 
minute*), with the "tea-room," fills out au evening well, though music and other 
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Price, 25 Cents. 

AN EVENING WITH PICKWICK. 

A Literary and Dramatic Dickens Entertainment. — Introduces the Pickwick Club, 
the Wardles of Dingley Dell, the Kat I'.oy, Alfred Jingle, Mrs. Leo Hunter, Lord 
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AN EVENING WITH COPPERFIELD. 

A I iterary and l^ramalic Dickens Entertainment. — Litioduces Mrs. CoppcrficKl, 
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These " Evenings with Dickens " can be represented in whole or in part, require 
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THE GYPSIES' FESTIVAL. 

A Musical Entertainment for ^'oung People. Introduces the Gypsy Queen, Fortune 
Teller, Yankee Peddler, and a. Chorus of Gypsies, of any desired number. The 
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THE COURT OF KING CHRISTMAS. 

A CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENT. The action l.^kes place in Santa Claus 
land on Christmas eve, and represents the bustling preparations of St. Nick and 
his attendant worthies for the gratification of all children the next day. The cast 
may include as many as 36 characters, though fewer will answer, and the eiilcr- 
tainment represented on a platform, without troublesome properties. The cos- 
tumes are simple, the incidental music and drill movements graceful and easily 
managed, the dialogue uncommonly good, and the whole thing <iuite aljove the 
average. A representation of this entertainment will c'use the young folks, from 
-ix to sixty, fairly to turn themse'ves inside out with delight, and, at the same 
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KF.CRXTLV PUBLISHED. 

ILLUSTRATED TABLEAUX FOR AMATEURS. A new series of Tnl'Uaux 
I'triaHfs, by Mahiha C. Wki.d. In this series each descriptfon is .accon'ipanied 
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PART L— MISCELLAM-'.OUS TAP.LKAIX.— Contains General Introduction, 

12 Tableaux and 14 Illustrations. Price, 25 Cents. 
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SAVED FROM THE WRECK. A drama in three acts. Eight male, three 
female characters', 'lime, two hours and a half. Price, 15 Cents'. 

BETWEEN TW^O FIRES. .\ comedy-drama in three acts. Eight male, three 
fcin.ile characters. Time, two hours and a half. Price, 15 Cents. 

BY FORCE OF IMPULSE. A drama in five .icis. Nine male, three female 
characters. Time, two hours and a half. Price, 15 Cents. 

A LESSON IN ELEGANCE. A comedy i.T one act. Four female characters. 
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"WANTED, A CONFIDENTIAL CLERK. \ farce in one .act. Six male 
characters. Time, thirty minutes. Price, 15 Cents. 

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THE TRIPLE WEDDING. A drama in three acts. Four male, four female 
characters. Time, one hour and a quarter. Price, 15 cents. 
XW~A My of the n/'orr will be sent by inail^ postpaid, to any arMrt-ss, on rcni/t 

rf the I'lHnexed prl,cs._^\ 

HAROLD ROORBACH, Publisher, 9 Murray St.. New York. 



HELME 

ACTOR'S MAKE , ,„ ,33 ^ 3 

A Pratiical and Systetnattc Guide to the Art a/ Making vp /jr the Stage 




PRICE, 25 CENTS. 



With exhaustive treatment on the Use of Theatrical 
Wigs and Beards, The Make-up and its requisite materials, the 
different features and their management, typical character 
Masks, etc. With Special Hints to Ladies. Designed for the 
USE OF Actors and Amateurs, and for both Ladies and Gentle- 
wen. Copiously Illustrated. 

CONTENTS. 

\. Theatrical Wigs. — The Style and Form of Theatrical Wigs 
and Beards. The Color and Shading of Theatrical Wigs and Beards, 
Directions for Measuring the Head. To put on a Wig properly. 

n. Theatrical Beards. — How to fashion a Beard out of crep6 
hair. How to make Beards of Wool. The growth of Beard simu- 
lated. 

HL The Make-up. — A successful Character Mask, and how to 
inr.k3 it. Perspiration during performance, how removed. 

IV. The Make-up Box. — Grease Paints. Grease paintu in 
sticks; Flesh Cream; Face Powder; How to use face powder as a 
liquid cream ; The various shades of face powder. Water Cos- 
mfeuque. Nose Putty. Court Plaster. Cocoa Butter. CrSp6 Hair 
apd Prepared Wool. Grenadine. Dorin's Rouge. "Old Man's" 
Rouge. "Juvenile" Rouge. Spirit Gum. Email Noir. Bear's 
Grease. Eyebrow Pencils. Artist's Stomps. Powder Puffs. Hares* 
Feet. Camels' -hair Brushes. 

V. The Features and their Treatment. — The Eyes : blind- 
ness. The Eyelids. The Eyebrows : How to paint out an eyebrow or 
moustache ; llow to paste on eyebrows ; How to regulate bushy eye- 
brows. The Eyelashes : To alter the appearance of the eyes. The 
Ears. The Nose : A Roman nose; How to use the nose putty; A 
pug nose ; An African nose; a large nose apparently reduced in size. 
The Mouth and Lips : a juvenile mouth ; an old" mouth ; a sensuous 
mouth 5 a satirical moulh ; a one-sided mouth ; a merry mouth ; A 
sullen mouth. The Teeth. The Neck, Arms, Hands and Finger- 
nails : Fingernails lengthened. Wrinkles: Friendliness and Sullen- 
ness indicated by wrinkles. Shading. A Starving character. A 
Cut in the Face. A Thin Face Made Fleshy. 

VI. Typical Character Masks, — The Make-up for Youth : 
Dimpled cheeks. Manhood. Middle Age. Making up as a Drunk- 
ard : One method ; another method. Old Age. Negroes. Moors. 
Chinese. King Lear. Shylock, Macbeth. Richelieu. Statuary. 
Clowns. 

VII. Special Hints to Ladies. — The Make-up. Theatrical 
Wiga and Hair Goods. 

Sent hy mail, postpaid, to any address, on receipt of the price. 

HAROLD ROORBACH, Publisher, 

9 Murray Street, New York. 




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